Stay
by twosugarsplease
Summary: Fred and George's incestuous relationship since childhood. Fred!centric Rated T but might change. I don't own anything in the Harry Potter universe.
1. Chapter 1

Stay – A Fred and George story.

_We both knew it was wrong, at least we had the decency to sigh sadly every once in a while. Nonetheless, I loved him. How could I _not _love him? We had been made for each other; I pitied all the others who would never feel a passion as strong as ours. His hands fit mine perfectly, being slightly larger, his lips moulded themselves to mine and we fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. But every day it got harder to be together; the voice in my head got louder and louder with each tick of the clock. Why couldn't I tell the world I was in love with my brother – my twin brother?_

It started innocently enough, chaste family kisses on the lips- then no one saw nothing wrong, it was just like we kissed Mum and Dad- but we wouldn't let go of the other, either holding hands or walking shoulder against shoulder. Sometimes when we were sitting alone, heads close together, someone would look at us and I'd catch a glimpse, in their eyes, of something I wasn't supposed to see. Slowly, I realised that we weren't supposed to be doing some things –those things being small actions and reactions that revealed our slightly incestuous behaviour, even at age six - so we settled with gestures of comradeship, and with that came the pranks.

Back then, mornings were the hardest part of our days, even at our young age we slept together, afraid that the other would go away, although knowing he wouldn't. We would pretend that one of us had had a bad dream, but after a month or so, Mum wouldn't believe anymore. We began waking up an hour earlier than anyone else, so that each of us was on his own bed when she came to check on us. We didn't sleep during that hour, though, but we wouldn't discuss it, not even with each other.

Then breakfast, sitting across each other was painful, not touching and knowing we couldn't hold hands over the table; we knew we couldn't, we just didn't understand why, it seemed quite innocent. After weeks of incessant whining, we were allowed to sit together –yet another obstacle we'd managed to surpass.

And we had the days to ourselves, what with Dad being at work, Mum taking care of the house every waking hour, Bill, Charlie and Percy considering themselves "grown-ups" and Ron and Ginny being just babies. We'd spend our afternoons playing pranks on each element of the family, after weeks of intense planning, revelling on the fact that Percy was particularly irritable.

We had two excuses for the pranks, and that was what kept us from feeling remorse: one, it was better to disappoint Mum that way, acting as rebels; two, it let us being alone and close together. The first was a sort of reaction to the first.

So, from then on, our family would translate our moments alone as prank planning. And we did it, half of the time. The other half we'd spend it quietly, just the two of us, pressing our backs together and drown in separate thoughts, about the same problem. That was the time of the day when we'd sigh. _Why did he have to be my brother?_

We were caught in a compromising position just once, when we were eight years old, thankfully by bill, who calmly said that it was wrong to kiss brothers on the lips, that only married people could do that, of course we threw him off, saying he'd snogged that girl on the broom closet and they weren't married, but we didn't repeat our feat until late at night, in our room, where our little crime would be indulged, hidden from unwelcome eyes.

"Freddie? Freddie. Fred!" George had called from his bed, hesitantly; it was the night after being caught. His voice sounded strangled, breathless.

"Are you alright?" I'd asked all but drowning in concern, I hated it when his voice turned tragic like that, like someone had died. I heard a grunt of assentment coming from closer to me, the edge of his bed, perhaps. He hesitated.

"Can I sleep with you?" he'd said, I could almost hear the blush forming on his face and neck. I nearly laughed, that was what all the awkwardness was about?! He'd sleep in my bed every other night, I couldn't understand how tonight would be different.

"Of course you can, silly!" I had answered, finding his tiny hand in the darkness and pulling him to lie next to me.

"Freddie?" he asked again, the same forlorn tone on his voice. He threw one arm around me in a strong grip.

"Georgie," I was beginning to get annoyed, I really was sleepy, it took all my might not to tell him to shut the hell up.

"Did you hear what Bill said today?" he whispered, I said yes. "If it's wrong to kiss you, then why don't I feel bad?" his voice cracked. He _knew_ it was wrong, he saw it in the way people glanced sideways at us, Bill's warning had only made him feel more aware of the fact, but he was feeling bad about not caring enough, even in his childish naivety.

"Bill's an arse. He doesn't know anything at all, does he? Sleep now, Georgie. I love you, that's all that matters," I squeezed his hand, but I, too, felt bad. I empathised, I knew exactly what he was feeling and I also knew that certain things were going to change as we grew older.

As I predicted, we both developed a conscience, abruptly removing the remains of our thinning innocence. During the summer before we went to Hogwarts the nights we spent in the other's bed became more and more sparse until they were no more. The feeling, though, remained. We didn't talk about it anymore, another of the conscience's side-effects. It all resumed, by the end of summer vacation, we were probably just weeks away from Hogwarts.

We were flying, throwing apples at each other, like they were Bludgers. One hit me harder and I fell off the broom, a little under ten feet. He got off his broom, shouting apologies. I stood up and rubbed my head, laughing, he laughed too, and stretched his arm to put his hand over mine. I froze, for a minute, knowing the affection I was feeling then, and the desperate want to kill him weren't brotherly at all- it didn't stop me, however. I leaned over and felt a mind-blowing wholeness. It was the day of our first real kiss.

"What are you thinking about?" George asked, looking up from a Potions essay he was supposed to have finished two weeks earlier.

"That time I fell off the broom, this summer," I answered, stretching my arms. We were halfway through the first term and we'd once again, stopped all our incestuous behaviour –well, almost all- which was making us act extremely awkward around each other.

"Which one? You're not that graceful that you've fallen just once, mate, sorry to break it to you," he smirked, hesitating between putting down the sheet of parchment or keep writing. I rolled my eyes at him.

"Witty, I'm hurt. I'm going to bed, you coming?"

"'Guess so, Snape won't read this, either way," he shrugged his shoulders and threw the piece of parchment aside. "You didn't answer my question, what were you thinking?" George insisted as we began climbing the stairs to the boys' dormitory.

"I told you already, geez, you're worse than Mum," I whispered. "D'you reckon they're asleep already?" I asked, eyeing each of our dorm-mates.

"You didn't specify, though, and I'm not a bloody mind-reader, I'm letting the second one pass and yes, I reckon they are," he took my hand and ducked his head slightly, looking at me through his eyelashes. "Please tell me what you're thinking, before I flutter my eyelids, then you'll have no chance," I smiled at him.

"That time you hit me with an apple and…" I blushed, I was meant to stop at apple. He smirked at me, pressing closer to my side.

"And…?"

"And we sort of… kissed," I sighed; I knew if we kept on with this talk I wouldn't be able to restrain myself from kissing him. He laughed quietly and pulled us to my bed, closing the curtains. Maybe just this once, I thought.

The one time turned to three, the three to four and suddenly it was a routine; we'd wait for everyone to go to sleep and we'd lie together until dawn, when he'd go to his bed before someone woke up. Again, I suspected that people at Hogwarts suspected we had something more than fraternal friendship and a weird twin liaison, but they preferred to close their eyes and mind their own business.

_And so, our First Year wasn't the quiet, shy innocence that all of the other kids seemed to have; we were loud, troublesome and smart, although we didn't study all that much; we didn't have the time. Mum was so glad when we told her about Lee Jordan, she was getting worried that we would never make any friends, thankfully that appeased her and we could spend even more time together. The less people suspected of our affair, the more flamboyant we could be about it. And nothing could ever compare to the feeling of George's lips on mine._


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N – Sorry it's taken me so long to update and thank you for all your reviews. Now, on to the excuse: I wanted this chapter to make sense, and I might have edited and revised it a thousand times, but, as I don't have a Beta, I do it all by myself, so it's sure to have some mistakes. (Kane2PointOh – thank you for pointing out that mistake, I have corrected it already).  
I have also given a slight change to the first chapter, I wasn't too happy with it; I haven't changed the content at all, though. Fred and George's Second Year has been split into two chapters, so as to make the story longer. Again, thank you, and enjoy your reading! **

Disclaimer: Every familiar thing belongs to J.,

_As we were one year away from puberty, it was clear that we were different. Even Lee, our best friend and co-prankster didn't understand us when we were particularly mischievous on our pranks. It was the easier way to relieve the pressure, it was becoming harder and harder to hide what we were; our personalities had a lot to do with it. We were young, careless and perpetually unhappy, there was always something missing._

"Freddie! Will you please be quiet? I can't sleep." he whined, his teeth ground together in annoyance. At least that's what it seemed like to me, in the dim moonlight that came through the window, with sleep in my eyes as George woke me up for the third time that night, claiming I was talking in my sleep.

It was stinging me that he _could_ be angry at me –I knew nothing he did would ever make me feel the least bit resentful; we were twins, friends, lovers-, angry for something I couldn't control.

"Georgie," I sighed, the almost-relief of reality washing over me like the warmth of a favorite blankie. "I was having a bad dream." biting my lip, I hoped he would offer to sleep in my bed for the rest of the night; he should have known I couldn't sleep soundlessly any other way. I heard an _hmpf_ and he was lying in my bed, smoothing my hair.

He didn't wake up after that, which made me think that maybe the only reason why he hadn't slept was because he was alone. Of course, since we had fallen asleep later than usual, we couldn't get up as soon as we should and Mum threw a fit when she found us tangled in each other in my bed.

"You are grown boys, now," she said through her teeth, her eye twitching menacingly "and grown boys don't need to sleep in their brother's bed. Percy never needed to sleep in anyone's bed..." she went on and on, obviously trying to get us to understand how wrong it was -as if we didn't know- until she finally asked what we had to say on our behalf.

"Bad dream." I muttered, Mum's face softened; hadn't we been so scared, we would have found it funny how she believed us so easily: she was in her happy little bubble of denial again.

We were allowed to join the family for breakfast and ate in silence, too overwhelmed by all feelings but guilt to say anything. After we ate, she _shoo_ed us away, under the pretense of having to do the dishes, but the tense look she shared with Dad let me know that the 'bed incident' (as it came to be known) wasn't entirely forgotten. She didn't want us to be alone without something to do, so she gave us the chore of de-gnoming the garden.

I liked to watch him more than I liked doing it; he was so amused and oblivious as he tried to tally up how far he had thrown each gnome. As I watched him, I felt that I was more aware of the wrongs -or that he was more careless- and for that I was thankful; I had dedicated my life, so far, to protect him from anything that could hurt him.

"Freddie! Come on, why aren't you watching? Look how far I threw that one!" he tugged on my sleeve, a slight crease formed between his eyebrows and his bottom lip, looking so adorably desolated that I found myself _wanting_ to kiss him.

It had never been that way; it wasn't an urge, it was a statement, less forbidden than saying 'I love you' – I thought so, anyway.

I struggled with myself, just managing to repress that stupid push, settling with tapping his nose and daring him to throw another one even farther away. He beamed, remaining oblivious to how much had changed inside of me in that fraction of a second.

*

Hogwarts seemed like the only possible escape. I needed some time away from George, something I had never thought about, not seriously. Obviously, it would be no easy feat; the first nights without him would be hell and the apologetic glances he would send me -even without knowing what he had done- would be heart-ripping.

In spite of how much it would hurt the both of us, it would be better in the long run, and it had to be done. Fast. The excess of feelings was becoming unbearably painful.

Not even Mum wanted us around each other anymore, and she said we had to 'man up', whatever it meant.

At Hogwarts, it still took me some time to manage building that barrier between us. At first were simple things, such as pretending to be asleep when he asked if he could sneak in with me, or waking up later so he would get tired of waiting for me. Then, I begun avoiding him after classes, hiding where I knew he wouldn't find me.

Like I had predicted, he was miserable, on the first month; his shiny eyes were always swollen and red, he didn't even walk the same. No one seemed to notice, or they pretended not to. After that, he was just hurt, tormented, endlessly trying to figure out what he had done to ensue our separation. Lastly, he was mad. A couple of months had passed and we were nearing Christmas, and I hadn't spoken to him yet.

When we arrived home, I knew I would have to deal with him, and, there, things would be even weirder, what with Mum being 'alert' to everything we did.

I was feeling quite bitter as well, like some part of me had been torn apart -the happier part, where I stored the merrier thoughts. I began to sympathize with the warlock from the Warlock's Hairy Heart, story we had heard so many times before.

It was my favorite and Mum always conceded to tell it whenever she tucked us into (separate) beds.

"Before the horror-struck eyes of his guests, the warlock cast aside his wand, and seized a silver dagger. Vowing never to be mastered by his own heart he hacked it from his chest.

For one moment, the warlock knelt triumphant, with a heart clutched in each hand; then he fell across the maiden's body, and died. The end." Mum would finish the story in a soft tone, George pretended that sleep was taking him over: eyelids fluttering and all that.

"Goodnight, dearies." she'd kiss our foreheads and close the door. Everything was quiet as we paid attention to her footsteps down the stairs, to make sure we wouldn't be caught.

Then, George would stand up, shaking slightly. The bedtime story did scare him, for some reason, and he came to sleep with me, which suited me just fine.

We couldn't be over nine, although it seemed ages away, some other millennium, even.

I had doubted if he really did fear the tale, at that age, as he was plenty courageous about anything else, but I took any excuse I got to have him next to me, the closer the better.

Someone was telling the story in the common room, that night. It was the first time we had heard it in years, and I had the same feeling accentuating in my gut, like I was being ripped to pieces. George was in the circle of listeners and I leaned against the wall, facing their backs.

They were all listening closely, some of Muggle ascendancy who found it fascinating, and others, like me, who hadn't heard it in a very long time.

I listened as well, yet I kept wondering how it would affect Georgie. Was he still scared? Would he want to sleep in my bed tonight? And the most pressing of all questions; did I have the guts to say 'no'?

Saying no to him as nearly an impossibility. He was still my Georgie and, no matter what, I would be there for him, even if it did make me feel disgusting. I didn't know what _incest_ meant, but I knew it wasn't right, what we had, and it just felt much more real, now. Too real.

I couldn't love him as I did; desperately and wholly. We were just kids but I knew I would never find a love as strong.

As the tale ended, in the exact same tone Mum used to use, the students got back to what they had been doing before. The story-teller, a bulky Seventh Year, winked at George reassuringly. It was a familiar act, friendly, and I felt that the boy shouldn't be doing that, I wanted to rip his eyes out.

"Freddie?" he whispered, looking flabbergastingly at my wild, furious expression. I shrugged and stomped up the stairs to the dormitories, refraining from thought.

There were two parts of me, I had come to realise: the sane part, that whispered 'don't look at him, don't talk to him, just leave him alone', and the reckless, madly-in-love-part, that bellowed at the top of his figurative lungs 'TELL HIM JUST HOW MUCH YOU LOVE HIM, HOW HOPELESSLY YOU WANT TO KISS HIM!' and I ignored both, remaining emotionless. I wished I could remove my heart and never feel anything again.

He was following me, quietly. Inconspicuously getting washed and dressed, hovering next to my bed, where I put a show of re-reading my Charms homework, waiting for everyone else to fall asleep. Of course I had known he was stubborn; we were the same, after all. He didn't feel what I did. And I knew, when he took a breath to speak, that George had no idea of the effect he had on me.

My ears were tingling in anticipation, longing to hear him used the awkward tone I had missed so much. I wanted to have his head on my shoulder as he slept and I faked sleep.

"Fred," he demanded, pleading, but sounding awfully serious for who he was. "can I sleep with you tonight?"

"Of course you can." And there, just like that, typical as it was between us, we had made up. He would sleep soundly and be joyful again, while I would remain the same, only more assuaged. No matter how much our being together troubled my overactive mind, if we were apart I would be simply sad. Misery loves company, isn't that what is said?

George snuggled next to me, seemingly too relieved to say anything else. I, too, felt ecstatic like I hadn't in months, and with Christmas approaching, I felt like singing. Sort of.

The next day, nobody at school commented on the twins being together again -more literally than they could have ever thought-, but, for me, everything was perfect. I could be around people again, it was as if my brain had been put back together. Even classes seemed less of a chore; I had my Georgie!

We had already received Mum's instructions about going back home, Percy claimed he had too much school work, thus it would only be us, Mum, Dad, Ginny and Ron, which was brilliant. Surely Percy would tell someone about our temporary separation which would only draw more attention to our – thing. And if the 'bed incident' wasn't yet forgotten, Mum would linger around us more than we'd like.

"What are you thinking about?" George asked, squinting at me over his fork -it was our last meal before we left Hogwarts and I was beginning to feel butterflies in my stomach. Eben though I missed home, and our mother's cooking, the fact that we would be under constant surveillance made my insides turn and my conscience curse at me.

"Home." I replied simply. He raised his eyebrow, scrambled eggs still halfway to his mouth. "I don't feel like going. If Percy's not going what's the point? There's no rush from bugging Ron, and Ginny does scare me, sometimes." I sighed, he knew I was lying, but he also knew _why _I didn't want to go. I had tried, at least, right?

"I know." he said, squeezing my knee soothingly, under the table. "At least there'll be presents."

Overall, the term had sucked, I thought, as we dragged our things into the train that would take us back to our family. Quidditch had been awful; we were in third place, how was that possible?! The grades had been traumatizing and all that. So, I figured, things could only get better. I held on to that thought through the holidays, behaving as nicely as possible and staying in my room unless threatened otherwise.

_We wished for the rest of the year to go by uneventful, but slightly better. Maybe some world-wide change that would classify our relationship as neither illegal nor immoral. We wanted to fulfill our dreams and be happy, just like any other child, but all others didn't have secrets as dirty. Of course, we knew there was worse coming, perhaps because it _had _to come. Someone was punishing us because of this, but isn't love blind?_


End file.
